For the second day in a row Sadie did not wake me up at 5am. I awoke at 6:30 to a light sky and Sadie sleeping. She didn't eat her breakfast can, either. A harrier kept soaring around the meadow in front of us, looking for a rabbit for breakfast. There had been plenty eating grass earlier.
And while washing off the cot, Sadie darted out the van. For 15 minutes I thought she had disappeared because a scent had bothered her. Surely the neighbor's annoying little chihuahua mutt wasn't to blame? That dog kept coming over to my pad to do its business.
I found her later uphill, her ears poking from the tall wheat grass. She didn't come when called. She wanted to go uphill and hike!
There were plenty of people in this campground, more than I noticed yesterday. Most were already up to do more fishing or kayaking in the Big Hole River. I washed up and drove off, in no mood suddenly to do another hot hike. Perhaps yesterday had worn me out more than expected.
I drove 30 miles into Butte, the state's highest city at over 5200'. Once the "richest town on a hill" this mining community was the sample of greed and riches before World War I. Gold, silver and copper were mined here from various mines in the area. But then a disastrous mining fire at the Speculator Mine in June 1917, which killed 169 miners deep into the earth, changed things for the town.
To this day the town's "Butte Hole" still tells the tall tales of Butte's former mining glory.
I drove around the Uptown Historic District, brick buildings housing art shops, cafes and banks. From Uptown one can see the southern mountains. But despite my desire to rest and walk around, I didn't. I was in no mood. I was tired. Tired of what? Being on the road? Sleeping in every-tighter quarters with a dog that now wants to go on solo hikes? It was clearly time to find another shady hike near a creek, her favorite kind of hike. If Sadie keeps this up she is never going to want to get out of the van when we get back to Arizona.
I felt like LT Clark when I drove away from Butte: lost. I didn’t know where to go. I could have stayed in the hillside town for the day but I was itching for cooler climes and a chance to get some hiking in.
After a short drive on MT2 eastward, I was on I-90 toward Belgrade, where I stopped briefly at the Madison River Brewing Company to try their Hefe (which did not impress me) and headed to the closest trailhead I could find near a stream. That was Cottonwood Creek on the west side of the Bridger Mountains.
Apparently half of Bozeman needed to be on this trail as well, as the parking lot was crowded and the trail just as so, as people were coming and going on the trail I started out on, a trail that after a mile branched off into three other trails and I took the one that kept going up, the trail that was part of the 23-mile Bridger Mountain Trail.
Sadie enjoyed this romp. I went an hour up and an hour down, crossing the creek five times. I was tempted to hike longer but with a start time of 4:45pm I didn’t want to be in a dark forest alone. My trail went deep into the foothills as the bald and gravelly peaks along the Bridger Ridge sliced the mountains in halves. This was a pretty mountain range and part of the northern Gallatin National Forest.
All sorts of dogs were on this trail, from friendly Aussie Shepherds to neurotic Cocker Spaniels, ugly Shit-Poos and tail-wagging Retrievers with sticks in their mouths. Sadie barked at them all. I really wish she’d stop that bad behavior.
We were back at the van just after 7pm. I was hungry now, and needing to eat something hearty. That meant getting back to the Montana Ale Works in town for a cheeseburger and two more beers: Belgian White from the Belt Brewery, and thanks to the people next to me, a Schwarzbier from the Bayern Brewery out of Missoula. Both were very good although I found the Schwarzbier lacking full body as I had expected.
I took most of my cheeseburger with me to eat for breakfast the next day.
But now that darkness was approaching, where to? The closest campground was up in the Bridger mountains. I had already stayed at the Bridger Ridge Campground last week; I was now in the mood for Fairy Lake. Surely that place had dried up since the last storms?
The turn-off to Fairy Lake was not well-marked. It was the next turn-off after the Bridger Ridge campground, but the sign along Highway 86 did not indicate that.
The drive up to Fairy Lake was seven more miles up hill. By the time I got to the area it was dark, but light enough thanks to lunar light to find a site open. That is where I pulled for the night, in the last unmarked site as campers finish the U-turn out of the campground area. A small creek cascaded close-by, but with closed windows I did not
notice. I was ready for a cold night under the stars.
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